


Witness Protection

by jemariel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Background Dean/Abaddon, Clothed Sex, Dialogue Heavy, Enemies to Lovers, Knotting, Little bit of graphic injuries, M/M, Mafia AU, No mpreg, Omega Dean Winchester, True Mates, mild blasphemy, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 07:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemariel/pseuds/jemariel
Summary: At first, it was an inconvenience. Now, it's their lifeline.True mates from rival Families, Dean and Castiel fight to escape with their lives.





	Witness Protection

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE I'M NOT DEAD!!
> 
> I've been working on a lot of fun things, like [FLIPFEST](https://casdeanflipfest.tumblr.com/) and the [PROFOUND ZINE](https://profoundzine.tumblr.com/), I just haven't been able to share any of them. I can share this though so woo!
> 
> Many many thanks to the incomparable [Elanor](https://elanor-n-evermind.tumblr.com/) for being my sounding board and my second eyes. Also blame for this fic goes entirely to [SaltnHalo](https://saltnhalo.tumblr.com/) who put the idea in my head. I didn't even know I LIKED mafia AU!!
> 
> Keep an eye on my [tumblr](https://jemariel.tumblr.com/) if you're curious what I get up to these days. OR come to the [Profound Bond](http://discord.profoundbond.net/) discord server! It's where all the cool kids hang out. (And me. I also hang out there. A lot.)

Castiel Novak is late.

Dean edges close to the window, closer than is wise, and flicks aside the privacy curtain. Below, the street is dark and empty: just parked cars and the wide circles of orange from the street lamps. Benny’s out there somewhere, and presumably, so is Cas. Or at least Cas’s people.

He’s never kept Dean waiting this long before.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket startles Dean away from the window. The curtain falls closed; it’s Benny calling. “Yo.”

“You know better than to get too close to that window, boss,” Benny’s voice drawls down the line.

“Any sign of him?” Dean asks in lieu of acknowledging his statement.

“Not yet, but no bad news either. Keep your panties on.”

Dean refuses to let himself blush. There’s not a lot Benny doesn’t know about him. Funny thing about personal bodyguards.

Dean’s gonna miss him.

That thought is interrupted by a gentle tap at the door. “I got a knock,” Dean says into the phone, standard procedure. Benny doesn’t say anything until Dean peers through the peephole. “It’s him.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Dean opens the door and stands behind it so as not to be seen while Cas enters, quick and shuffling. “Yeah, I guess you’re losing your edge, old man,” Dean teases, but his attention is glued to the sight of Cas's shoulders in a well-fitting suit, his dark curls, and the stubbled line of his jaw. “I’ll see ya.”

Whatever Benny says in answer, Dean doesn’t hear it. He’s lost in Castiel’s vetiver scent, crystal-blue eyes as he turns. Dean barely resists the urge to sweep him up in an embrace that will last a lifetime.

Not yet.

“Did you get it?” he asks instead.

Cas nods, a subtle jerk of his chin, then says, “Did you check the room?”

Dean doesn’t even bother not rolling his eyes. “No, I thought we’d risk it just this once. Yes, I checked the room. So did Benny.”

A little bit of tension softens out of Cas’s shoulders, but he spends a few minutes doing his own sweep for bugs and wires. Dean lets him. This isn’t about trust; they trust each other absolutely. This is about knowing their own people and knowing where to look.

Once Castiel has satisfied himself that they are well and truly alone, he advances into Dean’s personal space and cups his chin with one warm, broad hand. Dean leans his cheek hard into the gun-calloused palm and lets his eyes flutter closed for a soft, breathless kiss. It’s so much less than he wants to give right now, but he has to be sure. “The papers,” he prompts against Castiel’s open lips. He feels Cas nod as he moves back, reaches inside his coat, and withdraws a sealed yellow-brown envelope, thick and unmarked.

“I haven’t opened it yet,” he says.

Dean takes the envelope and sits on the edge of the bed. Quickly, without fanfare, he tears open the seal and pulls out the fat sheaf of paper. The sight of a federal seal at the top corner makes his stomach shake, but he forces himself to read. Castiel sits beside him and hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, reading along.

New names. Micheal and James Milton. “Milton? Come on, we sound like dweebs from the 1950s,” Dean grouses.

“But we’re married. Officially.” Cas’s arm tightens at Dean’s waist, and yeah, okay, he can live with the stupid name.

“This doesn’t mean you get to skip out on a honeymoon, you know,” he grumbles anyway.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

New birthplaces. New parents’ names. New schools: military training for Castiel, a community college for Dean. (“Traditional sexism. Nice.” “It will draw the least suspicion in central Kansas.”) New plausible reasons for each of their identifying scars. It seems like everything is new except for their dental records.

“They were very thorough,” Cas murmurs, low and rumbling through Dean’s shoulder. He almost lets himself get distracted, but a particular enormous detail has caught his eye, and he can’t shake it.

“Sam’s going to Palo Alto?”

Cas sighs against him, a hand rubbing between Dean's shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get them to budge on that one.”

“We’re going to be half a country away?” Something is breaking in Dean’s center, and he’s pretty sure it’s his heart. God, no, anything but this. Sam getting out with them had been one of his sole absolute hardline necessities. “I’m still—I mean, we’re—I can’t just—”

“You’re still brothers,” Cas promises. “But the agency thought it prudent not to put all of us in the same place. Besides, they got Sam a scholarship at Stanford.”

The breaking inside slows, but rage boils up through the cracks, and he fights the urge to rip up the dossiers. “I thought you’d know a bribe when you saw one,” he mutters, dark through tight lips. “Fucking alpha meddling. Messing everything up, and I don’t even get a say? We were all going to do this _ together _—”

“Dean—I know.” Cas wisely takes the papers from Dean’s hands and tucks them away on a side table, then turns him so that they are facing each other entirely. One hand strokes through Dean’s hair; Dean tries not to let it soothe. “Believe me, I tried. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s our ticket out. And we’re not forbidden. We can visit—he can visit. He’ll be away at college. That’s all.”

That does calm Dean, and he tries to steady his breathing. “Just like a normal family,” he concedes with half a smile. Cas returns it.

“Exactly. And when he’s graduated, he can come home. Maybe. We might have to get clearance for that, but we have time.”

Time. Home. A normal family. Dean sucks in a breath and fights to meet Cas’s eyes through a welling of tears. “You think he’ll graduate?”

“Top of his class,” Cas grins, still petting the soft hair behind Dean’s ears.

Dean nods and sways closer to Cas. “We’re getting out.”

At that, Dean finds himself drawn into Castiel’s arms, flush against his chest, into the warm wash of his home-scent, mate-scent. Dean lets out a sigh that’s almost a groan and tucks his face against Cas’s neck, where that scent is the strongest. “We’re getting out.”

~~

**((two years, six months ago))**

_ “Winchester.” _

_ “Novak." _

_ "Many condolences upon the death of your father." _

_ "Oh, yeah, I'm sure you were just bawling your eyes out when you got the news." _

_ "Your father was responsible for the deaths of many of my best people, alphas and omegas, men and women. The wake of his passing sends waves that even the tidiest church mouse can perceive. But whatever else he was, he was a man of honor. That won’t soon be forgotten." _

_ "Get to the point, Novak." _

_ "... Would you rather not speak of your father?" _

_ "No, I'm here to talk business." _

_ "We are talking business. Is the purpose of this meeting not to discuss the fate of the Winchester family after its Alpha's death?" _

_ "I'm running the family now. The Winchesters don't need an alpha." _

_ "I'd heard that rumor. It's unprecedented, an omega running a family." _

_ "What can I say? I'm a rebel." _

_ “That’s a dangerous attitude.” _

_ “Yeah, well, get used to it.” _

_ "...You have a brother, don't you?" _

_ "You leave Sammy out of this." _

_ "You do. If he presents alpha—" _

_ "He's sixteen. Alpha or not, he's too young to get involved." _

_ "You're very protective. How old were you when your father first put you up to the plate?" _

_ "Will you shut up about my—?" _

_ "... What’s wrong?” _

_ “Do you smell that?” _

_ “... No. No, I-I don’t smell anything.” _

_ “You’re lying. What did you do to me, Novak??” _

_ “Nothing. I swear it.” _

_ “Benny! Benny, I’ve been drug—ow, get off me!” _

_ “Quiet.” _

_ “...” _

_ “...” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Oh, God.” _

_ “Is this even a real thing?” _

_ “Apparently, yes.” _

_ “Fuck, you smell—fuck.” _

_ “Dean…” _

_ “Novak—shit. I can’t. Seriously, get off me.” _

_ “I… I realize this is… not ideal. But, well. We did ostensibly come here to arrange a truce. This could be a—” _

_ “Not a chance.” _

_ “... Oh.” _

_ “I’m sorry.” _

_ “... May I ask why not?” _

_ “I’m. I’m promised. To Abaddon Domini.” _

_ “Domini.” _

_ “Hey, don't get snarly. We don't even know each other. And the Novaks aren’t the only family we’re trying to get in good graces with.” _

_ “... I see.” _

_ “Ugh, don't stink like that. C'mon. It's not personal. It's business." _

_ "Winchester, I—" _

_ "What happened to ‘Dean’?" _

_ "What?" _

_ "You called me Dean a minute ago." _

_ "... I should go." _

_ "Cas, wait—" _

_ "Goodbye, Dean." _

~~

**((one year, eleven months ago)) **

_ “Novak.” _

_ "Winchester. We should really stop meeting like this." _

_ "Can it. You have the contract?" _

_ "I do." _

_ "Hand it over." _

_ "..." _

_ "..." _

_ "What are you doing?" _

_ "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm reading it." _

_ "You don't trust me." _

_ "Just cuz you smell good don't mean I'm gonna bend over for you." _

_ "..." _

_ "Cat got your tongue?" _

_ "What? Sorry. Um. Good. That you don't trust me. Keep that attitude. It'll keep you alive." _

_ "Nice recovery, space case." _

_ "... Have you told them yet?" _

_ "Told who what?" _

_ "Your people. About us." _

_ "Why the hell would I do that? There is no us." _

_ "Not even Abaddon?" _

_ "Especially not Abaddon." _

_ "..." _

_ "Benny. I told Benny." _

_ "He's your bodyguard, right? What did he say?" _

_ "Laughed in my face, if you really must know. Then he bought me a beer." _

_ "To celebrate?" _

_ "Mmhmm." _

_ "I like Benny." _

_ "Yeah, he's a good guy. We grew up together, me 'n him." _

_ "It's important to keep good people around you." _

_ "Sometimes I feel like he's the only asshole I can trust. Well. Besides Sam, I guess." _

_ "How is Sam?" _

_ "... Angry." _

_ "Angry?" _

_ "Yeah. I don't even know at what. The world. Dad. Me, sometimes." _

_ "He's, what, seventeen?" _

_ "Mmhmm." _

_ "Sounds about right, then." _

_ "I just wish—ah, forget it. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this crap. Come on. Tit for tat." _

_ "I thought you weren't interested in my 'tat.'" _

_ "I never said that." _

_ "Pardon?" _

_ "C'mon, I told you stuff, it's your turn." _

_ "What would you like to know?" _

_ “I dunno. Anything.” _

_ “That’s the worst kind of open-ended.” _

_ “First thing that pops into your head. Go.” _

_ “I have triskaidekaphobia.” _

_ “Uh. Gesundheit?” _

_ “It’s a paralyzing fear of the integer following twelve. When it falls on a Friday in particular.” _

_ “You’re scared of Friday the—” _

_ “Please don’t finish that sentence.” _

_ “Are you for real?” _

_ “It’s not that funny.” _

_ “Uh, yeah it is, Cas. You’re one of the most terrifying debt collectors in the game, and you’re telling me you’d stay home because of a calendar coincidence?” _

_ “Under my bed. With a loaded tommy gun.” _

_ “You’re so weird.” _

_ “Thank you.” _

_ "... So. Uh. You got a pen?" _

_ "Hm? Oh, the contract. Here.” _

_ "Alright, let me sign." _

~~

**((one year, three months ago)) **

_ "You shouldn't be here." _

_ "I know." _

_ "..." _

_ "..." _

_ "So, what, we just going to stare at each other all night?" _

_ "I have news." _

_ "Lay it on me." _

_ "Naomi is moving Novak headquarters. At the behest of Zachariah, primary business will be conducted from the 5th street Our Lady of Peace Franciscan Ministry." _

_ "... Why are you telling me this?" _

_ "You know why." _

_ "Cas…" _

_ "You're still unmated." _

_ "Yeah. Just… Been busy. Haven't had the opportunity." _

_ "Can I—" _

_ "We shouldn't." _

_ "... No. You're right. We shouldn't." _

_ "... C'mere." _

_ "Dean—" _

_ "Fuck, Cas…" _

_ "Ahh…" _

_ "Missed you." _

_ "Missed you too. God, you smell —Oh." _

_ "Hm?" _

_ "You'll be in heat soon." _

_ "You can smell that?" _

_ "I'm your true mate, of course I can." _

_ "Fuck. I wish—I wish I could spend it with you." _

_ "You have no idea how much I want to be there for you." _

_ "Maybe—" _

_ "No, Dean, it's too risky." _

_ “What if I said please?” _

_ “You are far too tempting.” _

_ "Just for one night." _

_ "Do you think I could leave you?" _

_ "... You're right. I'd never let you go. And we'd probably end up mated for real, too." _

_ "... Will Abaddon be there?" _

_ "Do you really wanna know?" _

_ "..." _

_ "It should not be that sexy when you growl." _

_ "Dean." _

_ "Not helping this little problem of mine." _

_ "Dean…" _

_ "Your fault, you know." _

_ "Dean. I think my being here is—accelerating the process." _

_ "Mmmmm. You're so fucking good, Cas, have I told you that? Like. You're so good. How'd you get to be so good in this life? I'm an asshole. Everyone I know is an asshole except you and Sammy. But you—shit. Hey. Hey, where you going?" _

_ "I have to leave. If I don't—" _

_ "Don't go. Please? Not yet. Just—just a couple more minutes." _

_ "... Okay." _

_ "This sucks." _

_ "Eloquent, as always." _

_ "Shut up. You love it." _

_ "I do." _

~~

**((one year ago)) **

_ “C’mon, Cas, you gotta say something.” _

_ “You smell wrong.” _

_ “I know. I’m sorry, I—I had to, man, she was getting suspicious.” _

_ “It’s not as bad as I feared.” _

_ “Really? Cuz to me it’s fucking disgusting.” _

_ “Hm.” _

_ “I don’t think it’s taking very well. I feel sick all the time, and it’s all itchy and hot—throbbing, y’know? Like it’s infected. Aw, shit, is it infected? Here, take a look at it, will ya?” _

_ “It’s rejecting.” _

_ “Seriously?” _

_ “Yes. Your body is rejecting the mark. It will heal and fade entirely with time.” _

_ “You don’t have to sound so grim about it.” _

_ “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let us get this close, knowing you were promised.” _

_ “Takes two to tango, buddy. And if you think I’d take her mark over yours any day of the week, you’re a dumbass.” _

_ “It’s still going to be inconvenient for you, and for that I apologize.” _

_ “Hey, wait a second, this is good news, right? This means we can still do it right, once we— uh.” _

_ “Once we what?” _

_ “... Nevermind. It’s stupid.” _

_ “Dean. Once we what?” _

_ “... I have this stupid pipedream, okay? That we could. I dunno. Run away together. Get out of this—the life. No more violence, no more turf wars, no more deals. Just—a normal life, y’know?” _

_ “Oh, Dean…” _

_ “I know. It’s dumb.” _

_ “Do you want that? To leave the life? Your family?” _

_ “What family? Abaddon’s taking over. Did I tell you she sent Jo and Ellen on a meat locker last week?” _

_ “Just the two of them?” _

_ “Uh huh.” _

_ “That—that’s suicide.” _

_ “Yeah, you’re telling me.” _

_ “I’m so sorry.” _

_ “It’s all her people around us, now, and she keeps pushing mine to the fringes or getting them killed if they get too loud. Benny’s not even on the payroll anymore; he just does shit cos he’s my friend. And I don’t even know when it happened.” _

_ "Do you think you're safe?" _

_ "What? No. I mean, yeah, come on. She needs me. More than half her turf is still Winchester territory. They won't answer to her on her own." _

_ "For now. And when the mark rejects—" _

_ "I'll handle it. Alright?" _

_ "... Alright. I just wish I could help." _

_ "You do, man. Trust me, you help." _

~~

**((five months ago)) **

_ "Dean!!" _

_ Nothing but the rushing whoosh of flames consuming wood, melting plastic, searing metal. The accoutrements of a life—Dean’s life—the life Castiel could never be a part of—smouldering and flickering all around him. The heat is a physical pressure on Castiel’s skin, wicking the moisture from his eyes and gripping him like a shroud. He pushes through. _

_ Up the stairs, not yet caught by the embers—Dean’s bedroom is on the second floor, that much he knows. Hope against hope— _

_ The bedroom is empty, but there’s light coming through the open door to the en suite bathroom, electric and flickering. There’s blood on the doorframe, four distinct fingers, and a bloody footprint on the carpet outside. _

_ Dean. _

_ He’s there, in the bathtub, his blood stark blackened red on the yellow-white. He’s leaning closed-eyed against the tiles, water gouting from the showerhead and sticking his hair to his forehead. He barely responds when Castiel hauls him out of the tub—just a flickering of his eyelids and a cringe of pain. Castiel sees the wound: upper thigh, heavy bleeding, and a cold fist clenches in Castiel’s gut. Tourniquet? Or escape? Which is more critical to saving Dean’s life? _

_ In a snap decision, he sets Dean back down in the swirling red-and-white peppermint pool at the bottom of the tub. Wildly, he casts around for something he can—there! The long tie of a terrycloth bathrobe. He soaks it in bloody water and clinches it tight just under Dean’s hip. Dean gasps and his eyes flutter open for the first time, dim and cloudy, but focusing at last on Castiel. _

_ “Cas?” It’s barely a whisper over the rush of fire and water and the ringing in Castiel’s own ears, but it’s enough. Castiel scoops him up again and half-drags, half-carries him through the burning house. The stairs are worse now—live embers at their edge, eating their way into the center of the steps. Castiel sticks close to the wall and takes more of Dean’s weight and laments that he is not a praying man. _

_ Eight more steps from the bottom of the stairs, through the kitchen, through the open patio door and out into the blissful chill of autumn night. The stinging prickles of sensation in his face, neck, and hands reminds him that you don’t have to touch flame to be burned. When he feels grass under the soles of his shoes, he lets Dean down gently before allowing himself to collapse. _

_ Cool grass under his cheek, sharp and abrasive, but oh so welcome. The smell of damp earth. A few coughs, dry and pointless. _

_ Castiel pulls himself up enough to paw at the prone form next to him. Still. So still. With racing heart, Castiel checks his pulse, his breathing, checks the ragged bullet wound in his leg. He should have put pressure on it, should have found a bandage, but there had been no _ ** _time_ ** _ — _

_ “Cas.” _

_ It’s weak, so weak, but it’s Dean’s voice, and Castiel feels himself rooted to the spot. Grounded. Held at the center. He looks up, and Dean’s eyes are open, glassy as green bottles. He braves a smile, and Castiel dares to return it. _

_ A single kiss, skin of their lips tight and dry as parchment. _

_ When the paramedics arrive, they find only a broken man laying in the grass. The one who saved him watches from the shadows, hands in fists, as his inner alpha howls for its mate. _

_ “Dean.” _

_ ~~ _

_ “I don’t think these are visiting hours, babe.” _

_ “I had to see you.” _

_ “Yeah. Glad you’re here.” _

_ “Are you—how are you feeling?” _

_ “Fan-flippin-tastic. Y’know. For a guy who just got shot and almost burned to death.” _

_ “Can you tell me what happened?” _

_ “Give you two guesses.” _

_ “Did she—” _

_ “She shot me. And then she burned down my fucking house. Jesus. If I didn’t feel like I was still on fire, so help me—” _

_ “Shh, easy. Dean. We will make it right. She will have justice.” _

_ “I’m not safe anymore, Cas.” _

_ “I figured as much, yes.” _

_ “I gotta get out.” _

_ “I know. I have a plan.” _

_ “What kind of a plan?” _

_ “I’ve been in contact with an agent from the federal government. They’re prepared to offer us witness protection in return for certain information, which, given our standing, will not be difficult to provide.” _

_ “For real?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “And they’re not just gonna pull the rug out from under us?” _

_ “At this point, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” _

_ “Hey, at least we’d be taking the bitch down with us. But Sammy comes too.” _

_ “Of course.” _

_ “That’s a hard limit, Cas. Sam comes too, or else I’ll take my chances with the Dominis.” _

_ “I know. He will.” _

_ "You’re coming with me, right?” _

_ “I… I had hoped to, yes. If you'll have me." _

_ "If I'll have you?" _

_ "We could, um. We could be m-married. Mated. In our new life." _

_ “... Shit.” _

_ “We don’t have to be, of course, but we could. It was—it was just a thought—” _

_ “Shit. That’s. Aw, dammit.” _

_ “What’s wrong?” _

_ “Tear ducts are burnt, apparently. Man, that stings. Just kiss me already, would you? I can’t sit up that fa—mmm.” _

_ “Mm. Is it—is this a yes?” _

_ “‘Is that a yes,’ listen to this guy. Strangest proposal I've ever heard." _

_ “Dean.” _

_ “Yes, you dumbass. Yes.” _

_ ~~ _

**((present day))**

Soon, it will not be such a rare luxury to have Dean sprawled out in Castiel’s arms, head tucked under Castiel's chin. He doesn’t think that he will ever stop cherishing every second, though, nor the scent and sensation of Dean's hair against his cheek, his sweet weight between his thighs. 

“Do you think we’ll make it out before your next heat?” he murmurs into Dean’s hair.

“Mmf?” Dean’s little hum sounds remarkably close to sleep. “Probably. I mean, they’ve got their info, now, so… it’ll be soon? Right?”

“I hope so.” Cas lets his voice drop lower, and his lips drift closer to the shell of Dean’s ear. “I can’t wait to mark you.”

That gets Dean’s attention. Languid relaxation tightens into a sweet intent, and a low purr rumbles from Dean’s chest to Cas’s. Castiel nuzzles down into Dean’s collar until he exposes the still-angry red-and-white mark of Abaddon’s bite. Seeing it stirs his blood, makes his fingers clutch tight. He wants to suck dark marks onto every inch Dean will let him reach, wants to roll Dean around in their shared scent until there’s no mistaking who belongs to whom.

“You’re growling again,” Dean reminds him with a smile in his voice and gentle fingers everywhere he can reach. “S’okay, Cas. We’re married, and that ain’t gonna change.”

Cas places his lips over the warmth of the mark and lets himself exhale his frustration. “I still hope to do it right someday.”

“Do what?”

“Proposal. A wedding. With vows. And cake.”

“Psh. Pie. We’re gonna have pie at our wedding. Cake’s too obvious.”

Castiel smiles indulgently. “Alright. Pie.” And with that, he sets his teeth down in their rightful place, bearing down just enough to pull a cry from Dean’s lips. He’s sensitive there, and the resonance of their chemistry sings under Castiel’s tongue. He wants. He _ wants. _

Soon.

“Fuck—” Dean’s chest is heaving with his breaths. “I wish we didn’t have to wait.”

“You already smell like yourself again,” Cas murmurs, breathing in the richness of Dean’s skin, letting Dean strip his jacket from his arms.

“Yeah, just in time to smell like you.”

There’s teasing in Dean’s voice, and Castiel tries to glare, but he knows the heat is lost to lust. That’s fine, because it turns Dean’s cheeks a pleasing pink. His lips, already plush and perfect, drop open as Cas lifts him and plants him on his back on the bed, trapped under Castiel’s thighs and arms, his bodily weight. Dean shivers and his pupils blow wide.

Soon, Castiel thinks, he’ll be able to have him like this every day. Every night. Not stolen trysts, not clandestine meetings in the dark. And not just like _ this_, dark-eyed and wanting, but in the mornings, grumbling over coffee. In the evenings, tangled together on a sofa, laughing at some dumb show or another. He can take him on dates—real dates, in public. 

"Off," he growls, tugging at Dean's T-shirt. They get it off over his head, leaving him bright-eyed and tousled. Castiel's fingers rake through the soft, messy spikes of his hair, down his neck to his shoulders and chest. "Have I told you today how gorgeous you are?" 

"Shut up and kiss me," Dean says and pulls Castiel down by the length of his necktie until their lips meet. He's already open for Castiel's tongue, drawing him deep, moaning under the onslaught. The shared scent of them, so strong even without a bite, spirals around them. Castiel feels drunk on it. He lets his hands travel everywhere; his fingers know Dean's skin better than he knows it by sight. He breaks the kiss to gaze down at him. 

His. 

This is his husband. 

"Oh, Dean…" he sighs into the heat of Dean's neck. Dean shivers as Castiel's lips find the skin over his collarbone, as his fingers bump down the ridges of his stomach to tug at the waist of his jeans. 

"Yeah, come on," Dean encourages, quiet through heavy breathing, and he lifts his hips in encouragement. In moments, Castiel is dragging the jeans down his legs, settling between his bare thighs and drinking in the sight of his lover naked, hard, and flushed underneath him. 

Dean doesn't let him look long before he's being drawn into the clutch of his limbs. His suit is a frustrating friction between them, but there is something delicious about having Dean naked and available while he's still buttoned up. Having Dean's wanton embrace ruining the crisp lines and starched perfection of his clothing. 

"Don't you want to take my clothes off?" he murmurs as he presses hot, damp kisses to Dean's ear.

"Nah," Dean sighs with a shiver. "This is—this is good." 

Castiel hums into Dean's neck and feels an echoing tremble through his body. Then he reaches between them, has to put just a little too much air between their bodies to reach his belt and undo it one-handed.

Then Dean—the little tease—he releases Castiel from his cage of limbs to hook his hands under his own knees and pull them up, out, laying himself open in offering. 

"Oh—God, _ Dean. _"

He looks like sin and heaven all at once, dewy and flushed with his cock arching up toward his belly, his exposed hole shining and slick. Castiel's dick throbs against the constriction of his suit trousers.

And then, with a devilish grin, Dean hikes one knee up into the crook of his elbow, spreading himself even wider so that the fingers of one hand can trace the crease at the top of his thigh, down the valley of his ass to tease over his own grasping hole.

Dean’s whole body twitches, and Castiel burns along with him, a mirrored ache that loops back on itself, one to the other. Dean throws his head back and clenches on his own touch as he slides his middle finger inside. Castiel scrabbles at his fly, still one-handed, desperate enough to give himself a tight squeeze through the fabric.

"Come on, Cas," Dean pants. "God, so fucking wet for you. All yours. Come and get me, alpha," on and on, a taunting litany that speaks straight to the animalistic core of Castiel’s brain. 

Finally, he gets his fly open and pulls out his aching prick just as Dean pulls his own finger out of himself and brings it up—and rubbing his own slick on his too-pretty lips, and there is only so much an alpha can be expected to take.

As soon as his cock is free, Castiel grabs Dean’s hips in both hands, drags him down the bed and into his lap with a surprised squawk. “You little devil,” Castiel groans against his slick-painted mouth. He licks his way in, tasting all of Dean at once.

And then he takes.

With Dean’s knees pushed up high to his shoulders, the fat head of Castiel’s cock lines up perfectly with his sweet, shining opening, and Dean is angling for more, _ more_, whining and begging with his body, if not his words.

One long, firm push, and Castiel is mostly inside.

Their kiss breaks on Dean’s gasp_. _

“Fuck—Cas. Yeah, come on, _ fuck— _ ” he moans as Castiel works his cock deeper and deeper. Dean is tight, so tight Castiel hardly needs to move to feel that silken, muscular tug on his cock. It’s so fucking good, so _ right, _ so _ perfect,_ and then—

“Hey.”

Castiel opens his eyes, and sees _ green. _ Lust-blown pupils, flushed cheeks and lips, and green, green, green he could drown in. Dean’s fingertips on his cheek, drawing him back in for a kiss. It’s sweet and playful this time, a communion, a conversation, even as Castiel’s hips start to piston hard into Dean’s eager body. He’s pliant, but not submissive, taking as much as he gives, as much as Castiel can give, and Castiel is forever in his service.

“Come on—fuck yeah, Cas, that’s it—perfect, _ fuck, _ right there—right there, you’re perfect,” he whisper-moans, a filthy prayer only for Castiel’s ears. He could go on like this for an eternity.

But he’s only made of flesh. Too soon, he feels the spiral of his pleasure coiling tight inside him, and he fights the instinct to go faster, faster, to speed straight to his conclusion, because he wants this to _ last. _

“Cas—Please, Cas, harder—”

“I’m. I won’t last, Dean, I’m sorry—” He can feel his knot starting to catch on Dean’s rim, and if he doesn’t pull away soon, he won’t be able to at all.

“It’s fine, me too, I'm—fuck, I want—come in me, Cas, fuck—” Dean’s fingers grip in the curls at the back of Castiel’s neck, forcing eye contact. “Knot me.”

He pulls out entirely, even as Dean begs for him deeper, pressing the wet and swollen head of his cock up against the underside of Dean's balls, knot against his clenching hole. He has to be still, or he will obey that groaned command.

They've never knotted. Too risky for their clandestine couplings, the scent bond that would follow too long-lingering for their necessary secrecy. 

But God, if Castiel hadn't wanted to since their first kiss. Since the first moment he'd scented his man, this amazing, powerful omega. And he knows Dean has wanted it too, has begged for it in the heat of passion, but this—this is different.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I—" Dean swallows hard. "We can't bite yet, but you're my husband. Let me have this. It's been too fucking long."

Slowly, incrementally, Castiel lets the desperate swiveling of Dean's hips encompass the growing swell of his knot. When it slips into place, they both shiver and swear. He lets Dean’s legs down from their bent-wide position and wraps them around his waist instead. He can’t get as deep, but he can feel more of Dean’s body, his arms, his chest, his cock rubbing between their bellies, against the smooth friction of Castiel's dress shirt. Dean drops a hand to cup loosely around himself, and Cas brings one of his to join it in a rhythm that’s seared into their blood. Dean tosses his head back as his entire body wrings tighter, tighter, squeezing and then _ bursting. _ He comes with a high-pitched cry, twitching tight on Castiel’s cock and spurting white and hot over their hands, their bellies, their chests. Castiel plunges his cock into that vise-grip, and at the moment of his sizzling climax, feels his knot catch, pop, and pull inside Dean's body, pulsing and firm. All he can do is grind and shudder into the slick, tight heat while he burns, burns, _ burns. _

It’s a long, slow, all-consuming fire that leaves him feeling hollowed out, like the charred husk of a house, ready to be rebuilt.

Dean’s fingers in his hair are what bring him back to the real world. His fingers, and the slow shift of his thighs around his hips.

He tries to move and is wracked by another wave of pleasure—his knot, still caught inside Dean’s body, rocking with his shifting. 

“Ah!" Dean cries out. "Better, uh. Better not try that,” Dean pants, but Cas is pretty sure by the color of his cheeks that that wasn’t all pain.

Plenty of time to play with that another day, Castiel thinks.

Plenty of time.

“You’re my husband,” he says, a low purr as he bumps the tip of his nose to Dean’s.

“Mmhmmm,” Dean hums, sated and content. “You’re my mate.”

Castiel settles, comfortable and calm, with his lips against the spot where he will lay his mating bite, awash in lingering pleasure and the bone-deep satisfaction of having his mate in his arms. Just once, he flexes his cock, just to feel Dean jump and quiver around him.

"You bastard," Dean grouses with a grin. 

Castiel doesn't respond other than to kiss him. “I’m going to love you for such a very long time,” he murmurs, half-drunk with orgasm and the sweet, drowsy pleasure of being knotted inside his mate.

Dean’s chest shakes with laughter. “Man. We’re gonna be suburbanites. Ain’t that wild?” Castiel just hums and snuggles deeper into Dean’s chest. “We’ll watch movies about the families and point out the inaccuracies.”

“I’ll carry a briefcase, and it will actually have papers in it.”

“I’m gonna get fat,” Dean says with delicious relish. “I’m gonna bake pie and grill burgers and we’re both gonna get so fat. It’s gonna be awesome.”

“I’ll get us a gym membership.”

“We’ll never go. We’ll keep paying for it month after month, but neither of us will ever go.”

Now they’re both laughing, and Castiel pulls back to swallow the laughter from Dean’s lips. Their teeth knock, kissing through their grins, but it’s worth it.

“You still gonna love me when I’ve got my spare tire on?” Dean asks, a buzz of breath against Castiel’s kiss.

“I’ll love you more.”

Dean squeezes him tight in his arms and legs, so tight that Castiel can’t draw breath. 

“Good.”

*theend*

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, stop by my [tumblr](https://jemariel.tumblr.com/) to keep up with the new stuff I've got lined up for the next couple months. You can also [reblog this fic in particular](https://jemariel.tumblr.com/post/187044335141/witness-protection-link-to-ao3-explicit-55k) if you liked it and wanna spread the word. 
> 
> Come hang out on [Profound Bond](http://discord.profoundbond.net/) on discord. (We're nice, I promise. We only bite consensually.)


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